


Descent

by DarkDimensions



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6312565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDimensions/pseuds/DarkDimensions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sections of FATUM Series in Solas' POV.<br/>Will label his chapters with the chapters they correspond to in the Main story for reader's convenience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Covers Attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unknown how many chapters this will be since it's blurbs of the main story. First Kiss and first smexy time will certainly end up here, no worries :D.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. It was going wrong, everything was going so terribly wrong. He had made a grave miscalculation and now his mistake may have cost him everything.

Corypheus lived. He had unlocked the orb and somehow lived. Worse, he had cleaved the Veil and left it that way before utterly disappearing along with his stolen power. Now chaos reigned as survivors of the Conclave scrambled to make sense of the desolation while unsuspecting Spirits were viciously twisted and pulled to this side.

His presence was easily overlooked in the turmoil as he moved to the center of the destruction. Rushing to get to the yawning hole threatening to engulf the world. Racing to save the lives of those not yet yanked through.

Witnessing in growing horror as smaller tears began to form, ripping more fleeing souls to the waking world.

The air vibrates overhead, sending a prickling of awareness across his skin and he quickly skids to a halt as a rift opens before him. He ignores the men and women passing in their desperate dash to safety. Focusing instead on mending the damage, wanting to close the rift before further lives were lost. His brow creasing in despair as he vainly tried to seal the fissure above with no success. Realizing he was too weak in his current state to do anything.

If he couldn't even handle such a tiny tear, how could he hope to fix the vast one looming mockingly in the distance?      

With a harsh curse, he spins away from the evidence of his failure. Suffocating guilt and remorse eating him as he feels each Spirit being corrupted behind him. Forcing himself to keep moving as the immeasurable death toll his error has caused only increased with each step.

In angry hopelessness he gazes up at the gaping breach, debating on his next course of action. Every idea and strategy falling short or ringing hollow as he desperately tried to think of something, anything, that could solve this.

He needed his orb. He needed its power if there was to be any hope of salvaging the situation. But Corypheus was gone and with him, the one viable solution. In self-disgust he turns from the glowing pillar, resigning himself to escaping so that he could regroup and give himself time to come up with an alternative.    

Weaving through rubble and clusters of distraught survivors, paying no heed to their confusion and prattling until one speaker catches his notice. His strides falter then freeze completely in stunned disbelief as he listens.

Someone, a woman, had emerged from inside the Breach. Strange magic blazing in her hand as the figure of Andraste stood behind her, bestowing her blessing before she had vanished and the woman had fallen unconscious. Chantry soldiers had swiftly dragged her away, offering nothing by way of explanation. Allowing for speculation to run rampant.

He listens to every word, the possibilities and risks churning in his head as he deliberates.

Surely it couldn't be part of his power...a mortal shouldn't be able to wield it, let alone live from having it. But if it indeed was...if the woman had somehow been able to survive...

A pulse of power thrums from the Breach as it expands further, its ethereal light becoming a fateful backdrop as he pivots to give himself over to superstitious fools.

~

It showed just how afraid they were when a stoic Seeker came to lead him to the dying prisoner. And dying she was for his magic was running amuck with each throb coming from the Breach.

He turns to the warrior; Cassandra- she called herself Cassandra, alluding he needed to be alone with the prisoner in order to concentrate. She eyes him with suspicion and gives a not-so subtle threat before spinning to depart. He waits for the sound of footfalls to move farther down the hall then quickly bends to extract the piece of stolen power.

Seizing the small wrist in his hand, he closes his eyes and attempts to draw its energy into himself. Brows furrowing when it fights the separation, his state too weak to force the parting but also its refusal to leave its host. Unsettlingly, it desired to linger with its current owner.

He looks down in bewilderment at the tiny figure. Studying the diminutive woman who was suddenly smirking in her sleep and giggling. The odd reaction causing an eyebrow to lift as he stared at her, puzzling over what felt so...off.

The Fade and magic freely cling to her, practically dancing and caressing their way over her in joyous enthusiasm. His lips pinch as he takes in the scene, knowing it wasn't the power nestled in her palm that was causing the peculiar behavior. Magical aura's clung to every mage but this was different, she didn't feel like a mage in the normal sense. It was more in keeping that it craved her touch, a response that was highly unusual in this Veiled world.

His gaze roves over her, eyeing her with a more critical eye. Noting the slave marking of Sylaise covering her left eye, he sighs. Not at all enjoying the irony that a Dalish was holding ancient power in their palm. The Dalish were insufferable and until he could figure out how to separate his magic from her, he would likely be forced to tolerate her Dalish arrogance.

Though, as he looked again at the offensive tattoo, it seemed almost...wrong. As if it was not supposed to be there and had been added as an afterthought. It piques his curiosity further and he finds himself taking a seat on the edge of the cot.

His grip on her loosening until for a reason he couldn't fathom, he turns the slender wrist, examining her small hand. With an expression of barely suppressed interest, he lifts the other. Lightly running the tips of his fingers over the silky soft digits and palm.

He had never met an Elf, especially a Dalish one, who retained such unblemished perfection. Rough living and the struggle to survive having tarnished it early in life. Yet, somehow this girl- woman, had managed to preserve it. Strange, most certainly strange.

His fingers continue their exploration until he realized what he was doing and he hastily relinquishes his hold. Mentally berating himself on letting his curiosity side track him from the immediate concern of the Breach and his misplaced magic.

~

The dwarf, Varric Tethras, was an interesting fellow. He stood with him as they battled their way through demons who had abruptly appeared following the opening of a rift. It was a shame he wouldn't have the chance to speak with the dwarf and explore some of the many questions he had about his race. When the girl awoke and sealed the Breach, he planned to use the ensuing confusion to slip away. He knew where to find a piece of his power now but it did him no good as it was. He needed to gather his strength, devise another course of action, and return for it later.

He was about to suggest they extract themselves from the never-ending demon bombardment when Cassandra jumps to join them. Felling the Shade slithering for him, he pivots in expectation to locate the prisoner who should be close behind.

Only able to see that she stood hesitating on the broken path above before he had to divert his attention to another incoming demon.

He feels when she drops down to reach them, his power and a strong sense of the Fade preceding her as she moves to sidle close. Magic permeates the air from her presence, as if the Veil was practically nonexistent in its attraction. Energizing his spell to an extent that was both perplexing and fascinating. Easily dealing with the demon just as she steps into his peripheral.

"Quickly! Before more come through!" Not bothering to give her time to argue as he snatches her wrist without looking. Thrusting her palm at the rift and nudging his power to activate.

He smirks at the audible snap and pop, thankful that at least something was going correctly. Promptly he releases his grip on the slender arm and turns to apologize. The speech he had prepared dying on his tongue at the first real look at her.

She was tiny, smaller than he had previously thought when she was unconscious. He would have believed she was an adolescent if not for the glaring tattoo marking her as an adult. Her stature was certainly shorter than modern Elves and it only added to her list of oddities.

Grudgingly he conceded he had thought her pretty while he pretended to attended her. The full bottom lip that gave her an appearance of perpetually pouting and the wild, short mess of hair were strangely pleasing to him. But awake, there was a moment of insanity where he wondered if he had perhaps unknowingly stepped within a dream. The unwavering quality of her gaze, the clear and steady focus directed at him, the iron determination steeling her expression; it was breathtaking.

He was grateful for the years he'd spent learning to school his features now, for it saved him from an embarrassing introduction. She smiles up at him in an infectious show of friendliness, a characteristic of her nature he could tell was genuine.

However nothing could have prepared him for when she finally spoke.

In stunned silence he blinks, questioning if he had perhaps been imagining things. The bafflement mirrored on Varric's face and his subsequent query proving he had in fact heard an unknown language. He answers Varric honestly, for he truly hadn't heard the like before. Increasing his rampant curiosity of the riddle she was presenting.

It was possible the brief visit to the Fade had somehow addled her or it was an unknown side effect of his magic being bonded to a mortal or even the combination of both. He was learning that the Veil had caused many unforeseen consequences and there was a possibility this was just another of those repulsive results. However even those scenarios rang false.

Her skin blushes the same deep red as her hair at his penetrating gaze and he quickly shifts to address Cassandra. He hadn't meant to consider her so openly or cause her to feel uncomfortable. He had simply been too engrossed in puzzling through the mystery of her circumstance and unnatural aura.

Funny enough, as he trailed behind the others, watching the slight figure before him, he was pondering on staying. Rationalizing that such an unknown entity wielding his power deserved investigation. At least long enough to determine what had gone wrong; if anything had at all.

And he was beginning to believe that might well be the case.

He was not the only one eyeing the woman in flabbergasted displeasure when they're introduced to her combat prowess. Or more accurately, lack of.

It was utterly horrendous, a fact easily overlooked and forgiven if not for the constant reckless jumping into the line of fire. He and Varric had to purposely aim higher than normal and almost lob their attacks in order to avoid hitting her by accident. And even then, there were close calls that left her hair singed and clothes nearly ripped.   

Cassandra's observation on her absence of battle presence and refusal to cast spells was not exaggerated. The terrible awareness could be attributed to severely limited experience but the magic was another matter entirely. One did not have such affinity and not utilize it, especially when it came down to survival. No, she wasn't refusing or avoiding performing spells, she truly was ignorant on how to do it.

It begged the question of how long she had been that way. Surely not years, any mage would instantly sense the power clinging to her and no Keeper would ignore the danger she posed untrained. 

She must have felt his scrutiny for she turned to meet his probing gaze, frankly staring at him in such a way that had him tearing his eyes away in embarrassment. Attributing the uncharacteristic heat suffusing his cheeks from being boldly ogled and alone for so long.

Cries and shouts greet them when they near the forward camp. Demons and a rift blocking their path. He stands back with Varric, felling Shades slithering for the tiny creature stepping to close the rift.

His eyes widen as his attention is split between destroying demons and witnessing what sounded like deranged ravings. Looking on in aghast disbelief as the hand wielding his power is flailed at the rift and the equivalent of a bizarre temper tantrum plays out before its spun in his direction. With a huff she extends her arm in offering and he hurriedly takes it. Shoving it at the rift and unable to help a horrifying thought from crossing his mind.

 _Fenedhis_ , a simpleton has his power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATION:  
> Fenedhis=Elven curse, similar to 'Damn it'
> 
> Depending on people's response, if enough ask for a particular moment, then likely its going to end up in here. Either when I can safely write it without giving away Spoilers or if the story has progressed far enough it won't matter. So enjoy!


	2. Chapter 1 of Persevere

He was at a loss.

It wasn't a situation he found himself in often. Millennia he had explored the Fade, befriending Spirits none had encountered in centuries. Spirits now reviled and feared by ignorant fools unwilling to see anything beyond their narrow preconceived view. Delving into memories to find long forgotten knowledge and freely giving to those that were curious.

But this...

An aura that attracted the Fade as though it was captivated by it. Dancing so densely, magic was liable to tingle across the skin with close proximity. Its presence leaving a taste in the air and flavor upon his lips.

A language never encountered; for it was most assuredly an unknown tongue and not the byproduct of an addled psyche as first believed. The accented call of their names being indicative of a mind processing Thedas Common as a separate dialect entirely.

This wisp of a woman was mysteries and impossibilities given form.

Over and over his mind churned the idea she was a powerful Spirit ripped through the Breach. A denizen of the Deep Fade drawn to the surface. Wondering if there might be a small grain of truth to the theory until visions of the last moments within the Conclave dashed it all.

Now here he sat, utterly lost.

For the first time in centuries he was unable to determine an answer to a riddle. Every thought becoming more improbable and outlandish than the last.

Logically she may have acquired the language from a Spirit during her time within the Fade, but the flimsy hypothesis was one he could not verify until the woman awoke. However, his intuition balked at the assumption. Instinct he had long learned to heed continuously nudged him into inconceivable waters. Prodding him to explore things that couldn't exist.

In the quiet room of his hut he pondered if maybe he was wrong. If perhaps this was such a puzzle to him only due to his mind playing tricks on him. Forming and creating irrational speculations because it recoiled from the possibility this was may yet be another unforeseen result of his error in judgment.

He leans forward, cradling his head in his hands at the weight of his guilt. Its waves a burden that had been his constant companion throughout the unending years. Their currents no longer as suffocating as they once were but instead ripples upon a tranquil lake that were no less painful.

A tingle of awareness races down his spine, pulling him from the endless musings. He stands, surprised the little Dalish was awake already and curious as to what brought her here at this time of night. Sensing her presence hesitating outside and beginning to turn away as he opens his door to the anomaly standing in uncertainty.

She comes to him, smiling self-consciously as unfamiliar words flow in a rush. In frustration she huffs, pausing to look around before giving what sounded like a triumphant whoop. Jogging to retrieve a branch and beaming in satisfaction as she joins him again. He lifts a brow at the trophy as she kneels before him with a gesture he follow suit.

With confused interest he watches while a poorly sketched tree is scratched in the snow. Her eyes bright when she points down and states a single term, uttering it again when he remains silent. Concluding she desired its name in Common, he parrots the phrase back to her. In an expression of happiness, she eagerly repeats this process with other nearby objects.

Quick to catch on he was being used as a teacher, he halts her. Leaving only long enough to gather writing materials before returning and motioning for a seat to be taken beside him on the steps outside. Unable to restrain the delighted pleasure it brings to be sought for tutelage as he considers where to start.

He even disregarded his usual wariness of allowing anyone near his personal space in his enjoyment. Letting the tiny body crowd close to him as she raptly looks on. Not offering so much as a questioning twitch when small hands reach for his lap.

Pulling a portion of parchment to rest on her thighs, she motions her desire for a quill. Curious, he humors her request, bringing a second for her use before settling in to observe what she would do with it. In fascinated attention he witnesses script of an unknown dialect being created before his eyes. Inquisitively following each stroke of her quill and experiencing a hint of amusement when he realizes she was scratching translations and pronunciations of his notes as he had seen young children do.

Utterly intrigued, he endeavors to absorb as much as he can while they work. Memorizing the difficult scrawl and committing it to memory to be studied later in the privacy of his hut. Maintaining the thrilled focus even as exhaustion began to creep through him as the night wore on. Paying no heed to the stares and hushed whispers from soldiers and drunkards alike their presence together brings.

He finally calls a halt for the evening when the greeting isn't repeated back to him and turns to see an expression of tired frustration upon her face. Knowing the vexation of wanting to learn and have that drive bare fruit, he stands, bidding her goodnight.

Letting his approval show when its parroted back. Though heavily garbled and butchered, it was still close enough that at least it could be understood. The exactness of her speech could come later, for now being able to communicate basic needs held greater priority.  

He watched her retreating back, ensuring she remained undisturbed until vanishing down the wide stairs to the outer ward. Turning, he walks to his door and lonely room beyond. Contemplating the bits of information he had been able to gleam from the impromptu lesson.

The Dalish enigma had somehow attained an unknown tongue whilst losing another sometime during her short jaunt within the Fade. For there was no mistake that she had spoken Thedas Common during his orb's unlocking. The how and why of it had become a mix of concern and piqued excitement for him. One he keenly wished to untangle before departing and even going so far as briefly debating the viability of a Spell of Intention before discarding the notion. With the Breach's presence affecting magical output and his weakened state, the risks outweighed the benefits. The Dalish's condition was intriguing true, but not one worth the potential repercussions failure would bring.

He was patient, he could wait. He could guide the little Dalish while enjoying the irony of being asked for his counsel.

And he would watch.


	3. Chapter 2

Chantry soldiers, peasants, mages, templars. Men and women with convictions as diverse as their lives trickle into Haven. Lured by rumors spread by superstitious mouths. Whispering of a Champion, a blessed Savior, who descended in their time of need.

He ignores it all. Knowing any logical refutal would simply meet with contempt and ridicule. Better to let them have their empty stories then draw undue attention to himself. Now that their 'Herald' was awake and no longer in danger of dying, eyes would drift from him and return to her. Until such time that his services were called on for help with the Breach, he wanted to sustain a distance from the others. Hoping his presence would vanish to the background, lost to the shuffle of a budding organization and looming threat. However it appeared that was not to be when one of the Spymaster's scouts came to him in the early hours of morning following the Dalish's visit. Stiffly declaring his company was 'requested' by Sister Nightingale.

Left with little alternative, he readily complies. Slipping the mask of humble politeness on his face and demeanor as he's guided to a large central tent the Sister had commandeered for her personal use. Putting just enough meekness in his bearing while he patiently waited to be acknowledge and given the reason for her summons so as not to bring notice to himself.

She doesn't keep him guessing long.

With an air of authority and intimidation, she inquires about the Dalish's condition and her mental state. Unwittingly verifying his assumption that he, or at least the 'Herald', was being kept under strict watch.

Finding no purpose in implying otherwise, he answers truthfully. By all outward appearances, she was whole and healthy with a seemingly sharp mind. And he could offer nothing specific by way of explanation for her evident lingual amnesia. He provides minimal information, likely things the Sister already knew. Maintaining short and concise responses that only gave her what she asked without divulging more.

The Spymaster's gaze turns from him and believing he was being dismissed, he opens his mouth to take his leave before an expression of unhappy reluctance crosses her face and she speaks. Who and what was responsible for the Conclave's explosion was still a mystery. They were unsure who could be trusted at the moment and Cassandra attested to his skills so even as much of an unknown element as he was, it was decided he would travel alongside Cassandra and Varric to search for aid in dealing with the Breach. It would yet be a few days until anything could be done or a course of action chosen, but she had desired to notify him personally.

Where he didn't particularly enjoy the thought of constant companionship; especially as that required extra care in upholding his facade, it was better than the likely constant scrutiny of being in Haven. Plus, traveling would allow him an opportunity to see more of this new world and perhaps encounter lost memories.

With a courteous nod, he acquiesces to her 'suggestion' and bids his farewell. Sedately striding to return to his room when the potent energies of a powerful spell drift to him. His steps pause as he considers the substantial magicks. Feeling that it wasn't being performed nearby as he had first assumed, but was in fact coming from much farther away.

_The training yard perhaps?_

It appeared likely. The magic was abnormally strong and its emotional identity was ever-changing. Indicating the presence of multiple mages; for every person carried their own unique marker. Although it was strange...even as the identity shifted, there was an intrinsic core that resonated the same. As if the marker was but a clever shell for what lay beneath.

He had never experienced the like and it was utterly fascinating.

Realizing he had halted in his tracks, he presses on, his destination now shifted to the exercise ground. Wishing to investigate the source of the curious auras and witness what could possibly require such exorbitant amounts of mana.

Only able to reach the stairs to the outer ward before he's hailed by Haven's; although somewhat reluctant, Apothecary.

The ornery alchemist made healer moves at a clipped pace to intercept him at the stairs, his puffed breaths misting around him as he comes to a stop beside him. With a tired sigh the man shyly states he came seeking his help for the latest arrival of injured. Though it had been days since the Conclave, soldiers were continuing to pull bodies from the rubble and four of those had still been alive and brought to Haven. The healer feared he was out of his depth with these wounded however, and hoped he might be able to offer his assistance.

As intriguing as the anonymous Mages were, it would need to hold. Lives took precedence over momentary satisfaction. If there was something he could do to lessen the suffering of the innocents here, he would endeavor to do so.

Giving the apothecary his full attention, he waves him to lead on. Following respectfully behind to the Chantry and his new charges. Needing little time to assess the severity of their wounds before issuing orders for what they would require. Directing servants as he healed the worst of the damage to provide medicines the opportunity to do as they were intended. Discovering he had spent the morning and most of the afternoon tending patients when he finally stands with a weary stretch.

Having done all he could, he exits with a promise to return on the morrow. Letting the crisp fresh air alleviate stiff muscles and invigorate him as he walked to his home. Unconsciously extending his psyche to search for the energies from before and experiencing a twinge of disappointment when nothing comes.

Once inside the privacy of his room, it wasn't until ink was in hand before he realized he planned to wait for the Dalish. That a part of him actually hoped she would come. Why it should matter to him, or why he believed she would even visit again was a mystery. Perhaps it was the stubborn press of her mouth or deeply intense expression of determination that convinced him. Regardless he found himself patiently taking a seat moments later on the steps outside his home and waiting expectantly.      

He felt her long before he saw her. The prickle of awareness that heralded his power drawing near, the sizzling tingle of the Fade that clung like a second skin. But there was something else...Something that caused his eyes to widen and perform a rare mental double-take. Disbelieving what he was sensing.

Vast quantities of residual magic weave and clash in an active cloud, aimless and seemingly unnoticed. Emanating emotions of exhaustion and pain that colored the aura encompassing the little Dalish. Radiating the false impression it was her magic's unique identity while cunningly concealing an underlying essence that was its true nature. A detail he may have otherwise missed if not for his understanding of the Fade and magic.

It was her. The peculiar energies that had captured his attention from before had been her. Not a collection of gifted Mages as he had justifiably presumed but the work of a single individual.

And it was extraordinary.

A mage who's magic outwardly reflected its master's thoughts at a given moment was unheard of. Magic carried the aura of a fundamental aspect of its wielder's inherent self, static and constant unless a drastic event forced an alteration of its characteristic. For it to transform, to echo her mental state as though it were a mirror...

The little Dalish was proving to be a well of frequent surprises and riddles. Was his power to blame? A spirit? Was she somehow different from anything he had encountered before?

With a sigh he shelves the endless musings, frustrated at being so weak and unable to question her.

Glimpsing him as she rounds the tavern's corner, a happy grin crosses her face while emotions of pleasure and excitement suffuse her magic. His heart jumps in response to her delight, not used to having the sight of him elicit such a reaction in others.

Mutely he observes as she woodenly moves to take a seat beside him. An eyebrow rising when she gradually lowers with a hiss. Shaking his head, he casts a minor healing spell. Wondering what in the world she could possibly have been doing that required copious amounts of mana to execute.

The Dalish moans his name before offering a grateful smile. The sensation of pleasure surrounding her intensifying while warmth flushes his face and ears. Certain she was unaware her seductive tone was reminiscent of being with a lover as he subtly cleansed her aura. Using the task of prodding lingering magic to harmlessly dissipate to focus his mind and create an emotional distance.

Having no desire to promote such a personal connection or endure undue influences.                                                                


	4. Part Chapters 2-4

Those first days in Haven became routine. His attention divided between aiding the apothecary with wounded who continued to trickle into Haven and his nightly lessons with the Inquisition's 'Herald'. Feeling each morning when he extended his psyche the little Dalish conjuring potent magic. Unsettlingly finding that now that he knew what to look for, he would unerringly locate it and maintain a partial link in order to watch her welfare.

On the fourth day he could stand it no longer and allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. Certain the remaining patients would suffer no ill effects if he was delayed, he made his way to the training ground. Eyes falling on the source of his interest and hardening with disproval when he steps from the shadow of Haven's gate.

The Dalish crudely gathered and weaved magic without the aid of a staff which by itself would not have been a concern but she was clearly an ignorant novice to all things magical. She conjured and commanded like a rough brute, as he had seen many a self-important mage do. Without a care for the subtle beauty or precious gift they had been given; more taken with the prospect of power and ability to lord it over the weak.

He was about to turn away in disgust as a niggling sense of regret at the discovery takes residence when the sight of the little Dalish attempting to reinforce a palm strike roots him where he stood.

Magic not to raze or destroy, but to enhance.

Somehow she had even managed to contain much of the magical blowback from the excess energy that collected with her unpolished conjuring. And as he witnessed a rather nasty tumble, he noted she had consciously aimed herself away from the other trainees to prevent their accidental injury as well.             

Perhaps not so careless as he first presumed.

It was a bastardization to be sure, but as he observed more closely, he could not deny the hints of ingenuity with which she bent wisps to her will. With a little direction, she would actually create a viable spell.

Ignoring the relief that bloomed within his chest, he moved to close the distance.

~

The days marching to the Hinterlands had been grueling and today had been particularly so. Traversing steep hills and battling their way through highly hostile territory in search of rogue templars.

He had secretly regarded their 'Herald' during their journey and subsequent skirmishes. Stubborn determination and indomitable focus is what came to mind as he had watched the little Dalish. Obstinately attempting to converse with the Scouts and others during the long hours of marching while only pausing to eat before relentlessly practicing her spell of enhancement until late into the night. Never did she offer a word of complaint or ask for a respite. Instead she bull-headedly struggled to carry weight far too heavy for her small frame and keep pace with the rest.

Something akin to begrudging respect had sparked at the steadfast resolve and had only flared brighter at witnessing her first real taste of battle. He had suspected before during their dash to the Breach but after today he was certain. Never had their 'Herald' violently fought another or seen the brutality of striving to maim your opponent, to kill. And now Varric and Cassandra recognized it as well.

However even as the little Dalish had stood rooted in place in shocked, paralyzed fear, and even as he had briefly contemplated tugging her behind him to prevent an unwanted liability, she had rallied and forced herself forward. Features tense and slightly sickened, she had felled two foes but not a tear or whimper did she utter. More corpses had soon joined her tally as they pressed onwards to find the templar encampment, a mask of iron will replacing the expression of worry and uncertainty.

Such a fascinating contradiction this Dalish was becoming.

Though Leliana was able to accomplish a cursory investigation of clan Lavellan to determine the honesty of the 'Herald's' claim to kinship, that they supported a peaceful co-existence with humans; it was still a surprise faced with her innocence of bloodshed. For even as welcoming and passive as clan Lavellan may endeavor to be; bandits, templars, malicious villagers, any would have come into contact with the clan no matter how judicious their Keeper tried otherwise.

Had she really never seen or taken part in her clan's defense? Those unblemished and incredibly soft hands said yes, but nothing in her actions suggested she would idly sit by as others worked.

Through hooded eyes he observed the little Dalish across from him, able to distinguish her every line and curve in the shadowy gloom. It was the first in many days that they were alone and he thought perhaps she wore an expression of shyness but that couldn't be true. The woman didn't appear to know the meaning of the word. Stripping down to undergarments in plain view of the entire entourage --wearing only undergarments even now in fact, and flagrantly jumping into a river to bathe where anyone had simply to be on the road and would spot her pale form within the crystal clear water.

No, most assuredly not shy. Feeling the corner of his mouth twitch with amusement.        


	5. Part Chapter 7, 8, with Chapter 9

Minutes pass before he realized he had remained on the same page, lost to needless musings. In frustration he sets the herbal tome he'd been studying aside and wipes a hand over his skull.

This was the second night since their return from Val Royeaux and the Dalish had yet to seek his company. It shouldn't trouble him but it did. It was not as though she had voiced a desire to continue their sessions upon their return. He was finally alone after weeks of constant companionship, was finally free to rest in relative safety and walk the Fade at his leisure; yet the solace of solitude felt hollow.

Even more curious, upon being questioned about her peculiarities he had answered with vague remarks that left much to personal interpretation and assumption. There had been no justification for his purposeful deceit other than a nagging sense that the Dalish needed his help and for reasons he couldn't fathom, he had given it.

The bothersome prospect that perhaps he was beginning to form an attachment to this shadowed existence --that he might actually find enjoyment in her company, drifts through his mind and he instantly recoiled at the thought.

No, unequivocally not.

Their 'Herald' was a wealth of riddles to occupy his time true; but naught else. As it was, his opinion concerning her teetered daily. At times glimpses of a perceptive and dauntless spirit; then others showed nothing but a boisterous, brutish thug who would take pleasure in another's pain as their dealings with the Chantry Mother in Val Royeaux clearly revealed. The woman may have conducted herself contemptuously, but she was undeserving of the vengeful ridicule and blatant delight in her suffering that their 'Herald' had subsequently reveled in.

Coupled with the Dalish's less than enthusiastic desire to aid the refugees in the Hinterlands; or anyone for that matter, it was a marvel he tolerated her company at all. Hence his vexation at the confusing turn of his thoughts.

However the issue was moot he supposed. Soon they would depart once more in the hope of gathering allies for the Breach and with luck, successfully seal it. He would put his time here behind him.  He would take his leave of these crippled souls, their Inquisition, and the perplexing circumstances surrounding the woman who wielded his power.

~

A twinge stabbed his gut as he stood.

Their 'Herald' was happily agreeing to negotiate with a Tevinter Magister and appeared as though she was not content to do it whilst sitting in a chair. Instead she followed him to perch upon the table, flirtatiously leaning close so she might brush a hand along his arm.

" _You think to seduce me? Do you believe it will make the terms more equitable?_ "

Again that unnamed twist while he mutely watched the play.

Nothing regarding the modern world's depravity, nor the lengths in which its people would go to get what they wished surprised him. He had seen and witnessed far too much --had even himself engaged in such acts that many would condemn in the pursuit of a better world. But this...this was a line he had never deemed to cross; staunchly refusing to pervert his morals in such a way. There were always other; if not better, alternatives than the degradation of one's self. That the Dalish chose to debase herself solely on the slim possibility of a trade that he knew to be futile from the onset was sickening. The niggling sense of disappointment entangling his heart was an unexpected bane he never anticipated encountering. One that he resolutely quieted for the sake of the mission and his goals. Regardless of the facade she presented; he knew he shouldn't have foolishly hoped she may have been different from the others, that perhaps there may yet be redeeming qualities. There lay no fault with the Dalish, how could there be? She, like the rest, were apart from themselves by his doing and walked blindly through the world. He had only himself to blame for his regret.

A wicked smile, conceivably intended to be sweet, spreads across her face at the Magister's sneer. Then with an incredibly buoyant " _No._ ", promptly slams his face into the table's unforgiving surface. In a snap the tides turn and even as pandemonium erupts he had to fight the urge to chuckle.

Shrewd. This woman was more calculating and clever than he gave her credit for. He'd falsely assumed she would submit to another's dictates, yet how far from the truth he had proven to be. So swiftly did the pang vanish and the knot tethering his heart unravel at the realization.

Warmth; a feeling of liberating light had begun to sprout within his chest when suddenly an ethereal glow and the overwhelming sensation of the Veil being distorted and inconceivably wrenched consumes the inn's ground floor. Imprisoning the room in dazed stillness as spotted visions gradually clear and reveal a horrifying reality.

Gone. The Dalish was gone; killed by the Magister's unstable magic.                                          


	6. Chapter 12 and 15

_Leave. Leave now._

Laughter, free and unburdened. Raucous revelry echoing through Haven as triumph and camaraderie temporarily reign.

Now, now was the time to slip away. While eyes blurred with drink and minds became blind with victory. The Breach had successfully been sealed, the Veil scarred but whole. There was naught for him to do here; his duty finished. Yet he was hesitating.

The Dalish had accomplished the impossible yet again --not once but twice. Somehow focusing the anchor to misdirect Magister Alexius' spell to travel in time instead of dying as he had intended. As they _all_ had first believed.

Broken and bloodied, what a shock it had been for her to suddenly reappear before their eyes. Wearing an expression of  such anguish it had momentarily held him immobile. None had been prepared for the subsequent rage and her attack of the Magister. Nor the resolute march to aid an Inquisition sympathizer despite gruesome injuries.

But it was the actions that followed that truly astounded him. Body and strength waning, she had ordered freedom for the mages. On the verge of death, she demanded their freedom. And right then...

He felt everything change.

With dismaying clarity he could no longer deny that he had come to like her, to view her as a respected comrade. Odd and evasive as she was, she possessed an aura that embraced and beckoned. A light that he hadn't completely escaped it seemed even as careful as he'd been to maintain a distance from those around him. It had wormed its way through his defenses; calling to him with beguiling eyes and a voice alit with husky warmth every time his name passed mischievous lips.

In a moment of remorseful understanding he realized the fragility of the spirit laying before him and the tragic waste its loss would be. Of the vulnerability and unburdened trust that looked upon him. And so he had pushed past the exhaustion and fatigue whittling away at his mana. Refusing to simply admit defeat while faceless mages gathered in support to save their deliverer. Recognizing that even as the other energies withdrew, his remained. That he wished to protect the untarnished softness.

What an irrational concern for him to have considering his power may stand dormant now thanks to his presence, but it would eventually ravage and kill its current host.

Again the pang of guilt which had become a common companion with each sign of pain from the anchor's use flares. It was another reason he needed to leave; no one deserved to die in such a tortuous way. However as he stared unseeing at the pack before him, the hesitation wasn't due to the change of heart relating to the Dalish. No it was something much more significant and important than that.

This Inquisition --as infantile as it was, could grow into a force to be reckoned with. A force that was sorely needed at this time to combat the being that drew from the power of his orb and the Blight simultaneously. And it gave him pause.

They presented the greatest opportunity for success but therein lay the conundrum. These men and women knew nothing of the threat looming nor whom posed it. And without this key knowledge, they were merely a dissident army lacking a purpose. A dangerous position for any blooming organization. Staying with the hope they became aware served little good except to transiently assuage his regret over the situation he'd caused.

Better that he leave and devise a course of action for dealing with Corypheus himself. Perhaps he may yet formulate a way to inadvertently lead the Inquisition to Corypheus in the future.

Decided, he reaches for his meager possessions and makes for the door. About to depart and never look back when the chilling peal of alarms toll.

~

 _Beautiful_.

He stood at the memory's boundary, frozen in place at the sight greeting him. Dreamers, mages, unsuspecting travelers; all provided a light that could be seen to those within the Fade. Yet this is not what he anticipated to find when the Dalish; Lavellan, had shyly requested his help exploring the Fade. Surprised, pleased, intrigued; he had readily agreed. Impressed and happy that she had taken an interest in the Fade while being relatively certain that he would still have to guide Lavellan's mind to allow her to dream. Fully expecting it to be so despite her obvious enthusiasm, however, how far from reality that expectation had proven to be.

With magnificent clarity she delightedly twirled. Basking in unafraid joy at being within the Fade. And by the Spirits, her light...

Exquisitely breathtaking.

An inner luminance imperceptible to the untrained eye shadows her small form. Shrouding her in flames of absolute colorlessness in their purity that they refracted the light around them. He envied Spirits their ability to see, for how immensely curious he was to know what they perceived and made of the radiance shining so brightly.

He sensed them. Wisps; inquisitive and playful, eagerly pressed against the memory's edge. Desiring to investigate the rarity in their midst. It swiftly snaps him from the momentary trance, realizing the potential danger such an aura could attract. The solution was temporary but he utilized the memory to construct a dampening barrier that would diminish the majority of her impression until he could craft wards to mask her presence.

Finally stepping within the dream, he desperately wanted to question and unravel her secrets. How had she survived? How did a Spirit as strong as hers exist? Why did it concurrently feel...off and also somehow _more_? Like a breathing, tangible embodiment of the Fade and the Waking World bound within an ill-fitted shell. But above all others, only one answer mattered and had begun to pound within his heart.

_Do you truly know nothing, or has it all been but a clever lie from the start?_


	7. Chapters 17-19

He sensed her, an enticing caress of magic and the Fade; untamed and dangerously seductive. Sensed the intriguing aura that strictly belonged to her hesitantly enter the rotunda.

Heard the frantic shuffling chased by a harsh curse before he had a chance to turn from his work.

Articulate thought fled and lightning seized his chest in an unanticipated strike at the vision kneeling by his table. _Fragile and flawless_ \- details that instantly drift in a blend of amusement and piqued interest as he stood. Swathes of fabric laughably large and mismatched, rumpled and consuming. This had once been the image to greet him, yet no longer.

He felt gratitude for the intuition that had driven him to heal even the most negligible of wounds, for the alabaster set against the richest of greens casts a dramatic contrast. Luring the eye to flagrantly displayed skin, unblemished and delicately supple. Such an insignificant thing that he had never paid heed before; yet he found he liked the smooth beauty brazenly exposed, wished to never see it no other way. Instead of the consequent memory of entitled power he assumed the sight would bring, only a foolhardy musing and a desire to determine if it would be as soft as it appeared surfaces. A foolish and keenly unwise thought indeed.

' _Josephine has found more fitted attire for you._ ' Letting the inane observation slip from his lips and moving to aid in tidying the disorder, careful to tuck the problematic thoughts away. Lavellan was so small, smaller than he had believed draped within those layers of borrowed fabric. Accentuating impossibly further her strangeness from those of her kin. Indescribably the uniqueness of Lavellan's figure delighted him though it brought to mind that of a human with her slim waist that curved to pleasing hips and muscled thighs that her thin trousers were unable to conceal. Lost in the moment as he regarded the alluring woman that he responded without censure when she waved his comment away. _'It suits you._ ' The maddening glimpse of exquisitely creamy skin nestled and spilling from--

He blinks, ashamed of the insane line his thoughts had taken and thankful for the mental reprieve her bubbly apology brings as they finish their task. Or at least it _had_ been a reprieve.

 _Easy on the eyes._ A flirtatious decree that he was incapable of ignoring and irrationally answers in kind. He knew the ill-advised whimsy of it but excused the behavior with the rationalization that surely indulging in the playful banter was liable to harm matters.

As Lavellan had done before, she sidled near, pressing close until the tantalizing heat of her was a sizzling brush against his body. Breathlessly tracking the provocative glide of warm eyes as they studied him; struggling as he did then to fight their captivating pull and remember his purpose here, of the overwhelming reasons why entertaining such notions even for a second was absurd. Yet as he waged an inner war a smirk, bold and oh so triumphant flits across her pretty mouth and he willingly fell at its emergence. Challenging that boldness with a grin of his own, curious as to how firm that dauntless determination truly was. Utterly unprepared for the scorching brand of her eager caress when she yields, nor the visceral reaction of needing to taste; merely a taste, it inexplicably elicits. Thrown and wholly startled by Lavellan's affect on him more than he outwardly presented when a servant halted his intent and came with news of a gathering. Now needing a moment of distance and privacy to collect tumultuous thoughts instead of the crowded intimacy a large assembly would induce, but understanding the pointlessness of pining for the quiet solace of his room when leaders had called an audience.

He could see and practically _feel_ Lavellan's giddy excitement beside him. Not for the announcement he knew was coming, but for the chance to continue what he had impulsively encouraged. Desperately he wished to guide her from the others in the courtyard, explain that he was not denying her however he wasn't even aware of his own thoughts on the subject. Ask her to give him a little time to think, to work through the considerations such familiarity warranted, yet Cassandra marched to join them and her presence effectively saved him from his concerns for the time being.

He experienced only a sliver of the tension easing as Lavellan is led away, watching her retreating back with a mind in turmoil and emotions he had long believed buried. Endeavoring to take this brief respite to unravel the sudden tangled web clouding his judgment when the source of his upheaval climbs to proudly stands before all.

And cruelly shatters the frail light that had yet been given the chance to bud and bloom.

~

Elegant scrawl and intricate glyphs lay spread before him however he saw none of it. The chaos of his mental state somehow worse than it had been a mere hour's prior, rendered to sheer confounded disarray by spiteful words and a small woman's tears.

With a dour disregarding snap he shuts the tome he'd been unable to focus on and moves to seek the sanctuary of his room. Leaving the few early morning risers to their studies within the library although he doubted it would be lessons they whispered of when he departed. He needed the tranquility of the Fade, its comforting presence. He needed clarity. Wisdom.

Once more he settles back on the narrow bed, allowing for the hushed stillness of his room to steady his heart and mind. Slipping like a simple thing to return to the Fade, to the place that felt more real, more like home, than anywhere else. Feeling the beauty; forlorn and pensive, permeating every blade of grass, every drop of emerald water, as he wandered lonely paths searching for wisdom.

" _I feel the strife. Rigid and purposeful, twisting and restless. There is more than before._ "

He pauses to turn to the woman serenely seated upon a tree's stump, her gossamer form perched within the boundary of a peaceful memory of a long-forgotten woodland. The gentle counsel freely offered a gift he now cherished in his maturity when once in his youth he had cockily spurred, believing in his arrogance that he knew better.

A kindly chuckle passes translucent lips, " _Passion is the vice of all youth, and yet without it there can be no future. The ways opened to you were none one without passion could safely tread, whether they saved or were just can never be truly understood. Nevertheless, perceived follies of the past are not the reason your heart walks in disquiet now lethallin._ "

The compassionate smile he had witnessed many a year levels on him as he strides to join his friend. Silently and patiently waiting for him though she could readily _pull_ every piece if she wished, yet she had taken to gentle prods and soft nudges to help guide him to the answers he sought. Certainly a generosity of spirit that was sorely lacking outside the confines of the Fade in this current era.

" _I fear I may have become blind. Seeing what I hope and imbuing a perception._ " Spirits knew he wasn't perfect; had committed such acts many would consider heinous in his pursuit of freedom, yet being named a tyrant and hypocrite hadn't stung quite so much before. It bothered him what a wisp of a girl thought of him, he...cared. Why it should be so was frustrating. Being so grossly misinterpreted by a woman such as her should by all accounts be laughable.

" _And what sort of woman is she? Why should your concern be preposterous?_ "

" _Brash, crass. Wielding a short-sighted selfishness that is staggering. Is it a wonder I should desire to distance myself?_ "

A secretive crinkle lines Wisdom's ethereal face as she coyly hums. " _Unsavory traits indeed, tis a miracle the girl caught your notice. As there are no redeeming qualities to speak of, the wavering in your heart will be fleeting._ "

His gaze drifts to the lovely scene sprawling around them, a furrow creasing his brow as the candor of his friend compelled the honesty of his sentiments to unveil themselves. " _For all of her faults, I find I cannot turn away. Nor do I believe I wish to do so._ " Fingers rise to massage the tension from his temple, shaking his head at the delirious hopes swimming within his heart when he knew full well their end was simply futility and pain. " _She has a rare and marvelous spirit, I would not see it crushed. Yet it beckons and wraps tightly to those she calls 'friend'. A vibrant loyalty and indomitable resolve I have not seen since the fall of Arlathan._ "

" _Then why the severity of your condemnation lethallin? Where lies the root of your objection?_ " Wisdom queries gently, directing -always kindly directing.

" _She moves through the world content to fight with her own power, letting none twist her to their whims. The clarity of her purpose intrigues me as surely as it repels, none are more dangerous than those struggling for matters of the heart._ " It smoothes the worry from his face as poignant regret and the bitter bite of melancholy threads itself within his soul. " _In truth, I believe I envy her. She has a purity of strength which I lack. I suppose I have spent too much time fighting. So much has been taken from the People, I am no longer so assured in my judgment._ " Robust branches, the vivid bustle of life; they brilliantly surround them in this memory long past and yet he could still see the desolate world beyond. Feel the loss his decisions had ultimately wrought, and he despaired.

For there was greater loss still ahead before his purpose was finished.

" _To those you may have wronged, you ask for forgiveness. To those you may have helped, you wished you had done more. Your labor for Wisdom has been paved with experience lethallin, the bitterest of paths one could take. Perhaps it is time you walk with another, even if it is merely for a moment._ "

He was quiet for a time, hesitant to speak. His friend was correct and he could not deny her logic, however things were not so simple. Did he desire to open himself in such a way, for a woman of not only questionable motives but background as well? He...did not know.

" _I...will think on it._ "     


	8. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I.E. The terrible Fen'Harel myths trolling :D

He felt eyes, blistering and intense sliding over him. Causing an ominous tingle to creep along his spine... Knew them to be the same umber eyes that sought him when they believed he would not notice their burning scrutiny.

They had not been exposed to a skirmish so she couldn't possibly be concerned he had received injury... Still angry perhaps? He recognized the need to speak with her and tell her emotions had long since calmed. She deserved an apology for his poor handling and choice of words at least. The fault lay at his feet as well as hers, he should have heeded his own counsel on rash assumptions. Yet the opportunity to do so had not presented itself. The Inquisitor filled her time with training and utterly avoided his company entirely, a detail he should view as a blessing but instead vexed him.

' _Hand sliding seductively. Fingers barely graze; a tease. Muscles tense from the anticipation. He knows where my hand seeks, so easy to _mmmph--'__

The same fiery crimson of her hair flushes her face, a look of horror suffusing her expression as Cole is hastily silenced and a moment of eerie quiet immediately settles over the camp. Eyes widen in speechlessness and he could feel the same heat begin to tinge his ears as an eruption of laughter and jabs spring from their company.

Surely the fantasy did not regard him...however he knew those bright eyes to have been upon him so intently and no other...

Carefully he sips from his skin, feeling the spread of warmth, hoping to conceal the affect Cole's delving admission was having on him.

Thankfully no one paid him any mind and the conversation was quickly steering to less troublesome waters than their Inquisitor's...affairs, as Varric and Kirkwall's Champion shared a friendly match of teasing. The conclusion however made his breath unconsciously catch and his heart skip a beat before a chocked laugh that is swiftly smothered seizes his attention.

Their Inquisitor was struggling to stifle her mirth and refused to focus anywhere but on her lap. The spark of suspicion is instant as he observes the odd woman, lids lowering at her barely contained amusement. Wondering not for the first whether there was more beneath that breezy demeanor and her presumed 'gaps' in understanding. There were times a word slipped, a light crossed those impossibly expressive eyes...

Seemingly partially under control, she looks up at the Champion's prodding. Proudly voicing an opinion that strikes a shocking blow and one he never anticipating encountering.

The Elves -particularly the Dalish, _Fenedhis,_ especially the Dalish- feared the name Fen'Harel at best. Loathed it at worst. And the Inquisitor was stating so happily that she _liked_ him? Liked _him_. How was that possible? He would have questioned her bold proclamation and its sincerity if not for the rapt glimmer in her eyes and glow of pleasure coloring her cheeks. The eagerness with which she sat, the air of heady excitement with which she listened; both earnest reactions that were undeniably genuine and undisguised.

If he spoke of truthful tales of Fen'Harel, would she be so accepting? Would she still listen with such deligh--

Oh for-- really?! _'Stealing small clothes only to replace them , that does not sound even remotely plausible.'_

Irked more than he cared to admit by her amusement. The Champion had purposefully woven a story painting him as nothing more than a ridiculous caricature! If the man knew of who he ridiculed, doubtful he would guffaw with such abandon. It was sorely temping to give the mage a taste of just how misguided and imprudent he truly was, perhaps a little 'helpful' dream while he slept was in order. Sipping from his skin once again, enjoying the thought the longer he considered it when he abruptly chokes and sputters.

Excuse him? He must have heard the Inquisitor incorrectly. There may have been some...adventurous...escapades in his youth, but certainly not that! He sounded like a rampant trollop plaguing an innocent land! He may have had his conquests, but he had been much more discriminating in his bed partners than many assumed. Such tales couldn't possibly have been whispered among the Dalish, she was simply embellishing to encourage a laugh. But, _fenedhis..._ he hoped nothing of the sort was being passed down. She appeared somewhat serious in her telling, enough to give credence to the idea there might be a reason she could form such a clear picture. As if she was drawing from a source and merely expanding on it...Spirits, how was clan Lavellan teaching its youth, did he even really wish to have that answer?

By the husky tone of her voice and playful glint in her eyes when she finishes, she may as well be speaking of a coveted piece of meat before responding to Varric's quip. He can feel the burn on his face but at her disappointed pout invading her voice when she questioned Fen'Harel's appeal, he couldn't suppress the riled sting to his pride.

The Inquisitor had evidently found him pleasing enough before! And he had surely experienced her roaming gaze quite often enough -now knew it to be lascivious in fact!- to be fairly confident his physical appearance would meet her superficial standards of desirability.

It rankled; _fenedhis_ did it unforeseeably rankle and grate.


	9. Chapter 26 - The Awkward Woman is Trying to Carry Me Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Kiss, yo!

Will? _Will_ of all things?

It was a potent punch. Shocked, astounded, rattled beyond imagining; he had speculated -surmised even, that the spirit harbored within such a small frame was rare and exceedingly powerful...but this? Akira possessed a spirit of Will...

The surprise is swiftly wiped from his expression as he schools his features into a mask of neutrality, listening while mirth is hushed and aspects of personhood is designated as though it were a game. A feat easily accomplished when your company included a profoundly insufferable human like Kirkwall's Champion.

He is only half heeding the Champion and his assignments when he turns to him last. Countering with a denomination of his own for Kirkwall's hero to the glee of the others. Participating and concentrating on the companions solely to maintain the appearance of normality while the tide of his thoughts coursed in a turbulent flood inside his mind.

_Will..._

How unexpectedly fascinating.

While countless more may have sprang from Cole's foresight, dozens of the innumerable riddles surrounding the Inquisitor suddenly became clear with this seemingly innocuous affirmation. It explained the oddity of the strong spiritual presence that had taken an interest in Akira as well. He had spent many a night walking the Fade near the Inquisitor's dreams in an effort to speak with the Spirit. Hoping he might determine its nature and conclude why the ancient being felt so similar yet wholly unique to any he had encountered before. There was kinship between the two, he had perceived it the moment he initially sensed the Spirit's lingering aura shrouding Akira.

And now he had a better understanding of why.

A progenitor, perhaps even two. Both alive and existing in this veiled world. A circumstance he believed to be impossible, to never witness again. Existences he believed lost or tragically destroyed centuries ago by greed. Yet one sat before him now. A spirit such as Cole would never mistake its derivation.

Did she know? Was the unnamed Spirit aware and sought her for such a purpose because of it? Was it the source of her selective amnesia instead of the Anchor? Not at all? He had a myriad of questions he desired to ask but would she answer any of them? Akira appeared to make it a point to be as evasive as he when it came to particular topics; a droll irony that was not lost on him in the least.

Subtly he studies the woman who had become their Inquisitor, intrigued and utterly titillated anew.

This...was proving to be a riveting experience indeed he thinks.

~

Mirth quite raucous and boisterous bleed into the rotunda. Their rowdy hails and cheers echoing in distorted revelry even through thick stone walls and a door of heavy oak. Disturbing his concentration and persistently needling him with the reminder of the Inquisitor's invitation and subsequent threat.

A part yearned to join the unruly festivities happening beyond his door, while another simultaneously balked and distrusted it. Experiencing the painful ache of memories he'd rather not unnecessarily dredge of men and woman who had once been comrades, of easy friendship...of an age long withered from the pages of history.

He desired to relive none of the mistakes of the past nor the needless sting of inevitable loss. But that shred of nostalgic longing remained regardless.

He should go -he _would_  go. It was better that way. Otherwise he knew the Inquisitor would make good on her pledge. Although if he didn't...

With a defeated sigh he drops correspondence he hadn't been able to entirely focus on and rises from his chair. Recognizing the vestige of ill-advised hope within his chest that wished to stay and behold whatever strategy the Inquisitor devised to cajole him to join in the celebrations.

Yes, certainly better he avoid indulging such notions and whims in the first place. He had nearly fallen prey to them before and acknowledged the fiendish woman had an uncanny ability to thoroughly disarm him without difficulty at times. He didn't need to stoke his complicated interest more than he unwisely had already.

This was foremost in his mind when he quietly entered the lively hall. And not more than a step did he take before things take a drastic turn and he's immediately bombarded.

 _'Chuckles you poor bastard! You picked the wrong time to pop in!'_ Halting him midstride to fix on Varric in confused bafflement.

A jubilant, _'Solas! You came!'_ chimes over the din and in giddy happiness the Inquisitor bounds to stand in front of him. With hooded eyes she suggestively rakes her gaze over him, lingering on particular areas of his anatomy as she dreamily purrs, _'I like that sweater and those pants. But they would look better on my floor.'_

The uncomfortable flush of heat is prompt. _'Wha-'_ She couldn't possible mean--

 _'Your shirt has to go but you can stay.'_ She states matter-of-factly.

Subtly he tries to clear a suddenly dry throat while taking in the overly attentive audience at her back, _'Perhaps this is a discussion for someplace else--'_

Cutting him off to ecstatically argue, _'You like sleeping, I do too! Let's do it together!'_ in a tone of perfect reasonableness.

Leveling his gaze to study her more closely. Was she inebriated? _'Have you been drinking?'_

 _'No. I only had one. And your body is seventy-five percent water, and I'm thirsty.'_ Eyes deepened to rich burgundy boldly fasten on his mouth, _'Want to know my favorite beverage? Mount and Do.'_ she seductively hums. Completely dismissing delicacy altogether and flagrantly proposition him before all it seems.

 _'That...well.'_ Swallowing at the immediate image it summons and his keen reaction to it. At an utter loss for words.

A disappointed huff and petulant pout crosses her face at his lackluster response then just as quickly its gone and a beaming smile surfaces. He doesn't have time to ponder the rapid change in mood before a hand fists his tunic and he's abruptly hauled forward without ceremony. Experiencing only a second of stunned surprise before buttery softness melds to him and scatters every coherent thought.

Wholly prepared for the feel of the simple press of her lips.

The very breath in his lungs seemed to freeze. Suspended for untold heartbeats as the muscle in question stuttered then lurched to frantic life. Any possible thoughts of moving away wiped clean as blood set aflame raced at fevered speeds through his veins. Holding him totally and unequivocally immobile.

She was fire and heat. Life and joy. A vibrant flavor of spice and sweetness upon his lips. The eager glide of her mouth, the throaty sigh of pleasure as her tongue takes advantage of his surprised gasp and delves to taste; once, twice.

Consuming and exquisitely intoxicating.

Arms encircle her tiny frame, drawing supple curves to press to the hard contours of his chest without thinking. Bending her back as he accepted the plaint willingness of her mouth and deepens the kiss. Learning, exploring, the welcoming heat freely offered to him. Determined to sample every inch and drink every breathless moan at his invasion.

Vaguely hearing the whistles and lecherous hoots through the sensuous haze.

Pulling back and leaving her captivating warmth was harder than he believed possible and when ardent hands attempt to draw him back, he inexplicably begins to offer a momentary trade. Only, Akira did not appear to have any intention of tolerating a temporary suspension.

Was she...?

Oh _fenedhis_ she was.

He slides his eyes away with a lift of his hand to cover his mouth, desperately trying not to chuckle. Not wishing to cause her further embarrassment as she valiantly attempted to hoist him away. Using a gentle touch on her shoulder to placate her frustrated struggles when its shockingly turned against him and he spontaneously finds himself being hefted across delicate shoulders without warning.

Stunned beyond belief, he merely lays there as steps trembling but absolutely determined unsteadily stagger in the direction of the Inquisitor's quarters. Struck dumbfounded at being carted off as if he were a war prize.

However Iron Bull's 'helpful' proposal snapped him from that startled reverie post haste. _'No!'_ Horrified at the mere thought of being bundled in the Qunari's arms and being toted to the Inquisitor's bed like some sort of frail strumpet.

He had never experienced greater heartfelt gratitude then when Varric's cunning words persuaded his release. Mortified and embarrassed more than he had ever been in millennia as he straightened his attire with as much dignity as he could given the circumstance. Feeling the humiliated blush staining his cheeks and ears but proudly seating himself at the immense table regardless.

Foolishly, as though lured by their own will, his eyes continually return to the little woman. No longer caring that the more discerning members of their party witnessed his fascination.

He could still taste her, could still feel her lingering caress. It tingled, _burned_ ; as though that warm brush had been _more_ than a mere marrying of lips. His blood boiled and his heart soared. He wanted to experience the warm press of her as he took her in his arms again. He wanted to hold her as he showed her the beauty of the Fade. For the first in a long time, he...wanted.

He shouldn't, he couldn't...

Yet a growing piece foolishly hoped.


	10. Chapters 27 and 29

Akira remembered nothing, this was for the best. Great even. Yet, why the sense of laden...disappointment?

Worse, as mirth and genial mockery between friends echoed, he spoke callously. He was self-aware enough to recognize the stung hurt that drove their purposeful coldness, of how effortlessly they could mislead and immediately regretted his choice. He was selfish for desiring her indifference while simultaneously hoping for her pursuit, yet he could not deny the part of him that sought her forgiveness as scouts returned and he was forced to trail her steps instead.

_'A word?'_

Silence, a coolly raised brow turned to him, the indifference he had cowardly wanted. Why then the hesitation?

 _'Solas, will you be coming with us?'_ Cassandra calls, his reprieve if he so chose.

No, even as he told himself he declined because the strong woman who stood before him deserved better than the reactionary hurt he'd wrought, deep down he knew the truth. He wanted to preserve to memory these days with her, to remain at her side and stay for as long as his plans allowed. He wished she would continue to gaze at him as a man of worth.

To continue chasing him.

This was a first for him, this sense of unease and restlessness, the sensation of his patience wearing thin. Kirkwall's Champion evidently perceived it, the way he persistently tested the bounds of his tolerance, as he did so now by daring to suggest such a shallow union. He subtly shifted, drawing near to Akira's back, signifying his intent was clear.

And it was then he realized he had to turn away.

~

Harrowing sounds that would haunt the rest of his days once more reach him.

Cries begging for the pain to stop, for a name to save them.

He felt shame for the gratitude rooted in his chest for Wisdom's purification even as the concurrent idea to reverse it warred within him.

Until this day, he had never fathomed how much of a weapon his name could be --pleadingly sobbed and repeated in the hope of salvation. Passing from beloved lips like a harsh scythe cutting him to the bone, nearly unmanning him. Being powerless to do more but listen to tortured screams and bruise delicate skin in a nauseating twist to prevent greater harm.

He deserved every ounce of disgust and loathing coursing through his heart, to only now comprehend what the woman in his arms meant to him. He had finally understood when that first cry rent the air and a small frame had been engulfed. He had done the most foolish thing possible.

He had fallen in love.

Disastrous, irrational. How could he have allowed this to happen, when? Had that initial warm call of his name at the Breach perhaps been the beginning of the end? Did it truly matter? He tenderly swiped the sweat from Akira's temple, thankful the respite of oblivion had dragged her under at last and knew that it did not. Regardless of his emotions, they were a distraction, a distraction he could not afford to have.

He could protect her, serve her -even love her, but he could never permit it to flourish.

It would be kinder for them both that way.        


	11. Chapters 32, 34, & 35

Still his hands trembled. The fear lingering and slow to wither.

It had been such a near thing, so close to being the end. A moment more and her fragile tether to life would have slipped away.

He denied the fierce desire to turn from his mount and stare at the frail female who bathed with another's aid in the ruin's meager moat. To go to the small woman who so effortlessly held his heart and assure himself that he'd made it in time.

He did neither though. He was no longer an unversed youth incapable of reining in his more impulsive instincts, he would wait.

He would wait, and hope that the agony of this day would fade. As he would pray that the fear of her death in his arms would be one he might never encounter again.

~

_Infuriating, insufferable...stubborn female!_

Why could she not let matters lie?!

He was raw, on edge. A situation only exacerbated by intense fatigue and the overwhelming ignorance and folly of the Wardens. And yet....

_'Speak plainly Solas, no more of this bullshit!'_

Bullshit was it? She had no inkling for what she asked, for what it cost to hold his tongue! She couldn't begin to fathom the depth of his longing.

 _'Damn it, you stubborn woman!--'_ Unable to keep it in any longer, incensed that the sincerity of his intentions would be called into question so callously. That the depths of his convictions would be perceived to be so shallow. However it would matter not at all and change nothing, his impassioned confession would go unhear--

Impossible...she didn't...

But umber eyes widened in shock and an expression of stunned speechlessness had utterly overtaken the bite of anger, belying his earlier assumption, striking a blow of its own.

Since when...

Exasperatingly he lost his opportunity to explore this new predicament, courtesy of Kirkwall's plague of a Champion. Where they now stood and where his lapse would ultimately lead them, he was forced to set aside as the remainder of their companions strode to join them. Akira appeared ready to do harm to the human at the interruption --a sentiment he currently shared-- however he recognized there was a more appropriate setting in which to make their thoughts clear, and acted accordingly. He was patient.

He could be patient.

........

He was learning that perhaps even his patience extended only so far as he felt the weight of a heated gaze upon his retreat.

~

Wicked female, she was acting deliberately!

He denied Akira the obvious rise she was aspiring for, feigning engrossed fascination with missives that were proving to be little better than kindling. Admittedly she was making it difficult to carry on with the ruse the bolder she became in her teasing caress, sliding her leg along his with sultry care.

At last the sting to his pride could stand it no longer and he let the reports lay as he shifted his full attention to the vixen in his midst. Debating what her punishment should be and how best to turn the tables to give her a glimpse of the danger she so readily courted. He was not an Elvhen in which one carelessly toyed with, he reminded himself.

Small hands clutched the lapels of his surcoat, urging him with a tug to stand in the cradle of her thighs, to which he voluntarily allowed. It suited his purposes perfectly, and if he was honest, he had missed this --the warm intimacy of having her near, of having within his arms. She was so close, so vibrant. His beautiful _vhenan_ \--his heart, his home. It brought a grin to play across his face, being within her light, experiencing it. He leaned in, desiring a taste of the affection she so effortlessly offered. A brief brush, a brief press to assuage the ache that had become a tangled coil around his heart and had only grown since the first moment eyes alit with mischief and life had dauntlessly met his.

Ah, how mistakenly presumptuous his actions proved to be.

He remembered the intoxicating flavor of those lips, the burn that even now persisted to sear itself into  the very fabric of his being and his thoughts. To sample that fire once more --to even entertain the notion...it was the epitome to whimsy irresponsibility. And yet...

With that first stroke of pliant softness against his lips, he was lost.

He deepened the kiss, gliding his tongue to sip and savor what was so freely given, retaining just enough presence of mind to temper his desire. Understanding even now that this too brief moment of paradise was fleeting and stolen. One that he was impulsively taking despite the obvious pain that was inevitable to follow. Ill-fated, unwise, but selfishly he still wished to accept and linger within the shine of her affection for as long as time allowed.

She met each flick, melding and marrying their bodies with an ardent demand that challenged every ounce of control, sorely tempting him with its whisper of seductive promise. Only when passion filled moans encroached upon the sensual haze did he realize he'd unwittingly succumbed to the siren's song of her touch. He commanded his body to still -ceasing the teasing roll of his hips though everything within him ordered anything else, pulling his mouth from her bewitching taste. Breathing hard, near drowning with the opposing needs to recklessly fall and continue or flee in desperate self-preservation. Before he could choose, it was seized from him and a growl rumbled from his throat as fingers roughly tug him down. Those lovely lips fiercely plunder his, vanquishing his thoughts and last of his sanity.

He sank willingly, hauling Akira flush against him, no longer considering the illogicality of it or his desires. Breaths hotly mingled, wanton moans called to him, and through it all his heart sang --wanting more. There within the tangle of her arms, a sensation -a light- caressed. Pressing outward, intangibly stroking his senses, his heart, his...spirit. It was a raging inferno, wild and untamed, seemingly invading and suffusing the light of his own. Steadily chasing and devouring the cold of countless millennia that had become locked within his heart. Greedily he sought more, allowing instincts to drive him, utterly adrift when small hands begin to shove the vest from his shoulders, dousing him in frigid, unforgiving reality.

He tore from kiss swollen lips, chuckling at the swiftness for which she reversed his plans --at how completely she'd turned him around and so easily, that he had all but forgotten his original intent. She was breathtaking sitting upon that table, gazing at him with a face flushed with pleasure, and it took everything to hastily excuse himself lest he succumb to the temptation of giving in to shortsightedness.

It was as he entered the hall that the full weight and knowledge of what he'd done abruptly descended. Any amusement and passion disintegrated, instead where the bloom of warmth had grown in his chest, a laden despondency and disappointment came to roost. Steps wavered, his gait becoming stilted as the comprehension of wakefulness, or perhaps an intense dream, starkly cemented itself. He was a fool, he had underestimated --been blind...

Too late did he come to grasp that he was more in love with her than when he'd moved to join her a mere hour ago.       

He...was a fool.


End file.
